Marti Gras Work Nightmare
I am amused at work these days to see the state of gaudiness at another cubicle a few aisles over from my own. With all the plastic sparkly strings of beads, pink flower garlands, dangly ornaments, etc, it’s like a Mardi Gras explosion has occurred on the site. Time to sift through the tacky rubble, and collect the painted body pieces together.
It’s a decorating disaster zone, the likes of which not even the Fab Five from ‘Queer Eye for the Straight Guy’ would go near. You need tinted welding goggles just to work comfortably in that cubicle lest your pupils should be irreparably damaged after catching a glimpse of intense light reflecting off one of the plastic Marti Gras beads. Even Carson the ‘Fashion Consultant’ wouldn’t be able to achieve an erection within 15ft of this particular cubicle. Jai the ‘Culture Vulture’ would no doubt just have a massive coronary attack and drop dead right on the spot the moment he laid his gay eyes on this fashionable faux pas.
Also included as part of this workplace installation art piece, is a shrine dedicated to the person who sits there (which it must also be noted, is the same guy that I also have a beef with over wearing see-through shirts, so that may lend to explain the immediate negative reaction I experienced to his taste in décor). There are numerous photographs of this same person posing, modeling, and mugging for the camera taped, stapled, and tacked to his cubicle walls in a complete collage of Gaydom.
Who wants a zillion photographs of themselves at their work desks? Isn’t that a little over the top? Who is so vain that they need to constantly stare at and admire their own beauty during the course of a grueling eight-hour workday? Shit, I don’t even check myself in the mirror before I leave to work in the morning, much less have to stare at a photo of myself karaokeing to ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ at the company picnic all day long. That’s more my idea of slow torture than it is for a comforting work environment. I’d rather stare at bull elephants mating all day *.
Who works at a cubicle decorated like that anyways, Elton John’s Bizarro double? Liberace is probably rolling over in the crusted purple satin lining his coffin right now as I write this.
* Which, as I understand it, is not a particularly pretty sight.
It’s a decorating disaster zone, the likes of which not even the Fab Five from ‘Queer Eye for the Straight Guy’ would go near. You need tinted welding goggles just to work comfortably in that cubicle lest your pupils should be irreparably damaged after catching a glimpse of intense light reflecting off one of the plastic Marti Gras beads. Even Carson the ‘Fashion Consultant’ wouldn’t be able to achieve an erection within 15ft of this particular cubicle. Jai the ‘Culture Vulture’ would no doubt just have a massive coronary attack and drop dead right on the spot the moment he laid his gay eyes on this fashionable faux pas.
Also included as part of this workplace installation art piece, is a shrine dedicated to the person who sits there (which it must also be noted, is the same guy that I also have a beef with over wearing see-through shirts, so that may lend to explain the immediate negative reaction I experienced to his taste in décor). There are numerous photographs of this same person posing, modeling, and mugging for the camera taped, stapled, and tacked to his cubicle walls in a complete collage of Gaydom.
Who wants a zillion photographs of themselves at their work desks? Isn’t that a little over the top? Who is so vain that they need to constantly stare at and admire their own beauty during the course of a grueling eight-hour workday? Shit, I don’t even check myself in the mirror before I leave to work in the morning, much less have to stare at a photo of myself karaokeing to ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ at the company picnic all day long. That’s more my idea of slow torture than it is for a comforting work environment. I’d rather stare at bull elephants mating all day *.
Who works at a cubicle decorated like that anyways, Elton John’s Bizarro double? Liberace is probably rolling over in the crusted purple satin lining his coffin right now as I write this.
* Which, as I understand it, is not a particularly pretty sight.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home